Storms in the house
Late Friday afternoon at work - the promise of a quiet, lazy evening at home with my wife has no trouble casting work-related thoughts casually out of my mind. Staring out from my desk into nothing specific, our customer holds shelf yanks my gaze for a moment. Attached to a special education textbook is a sheet of paper with a most curious name.
Storms.
Shame it wasn't a meteorology textbook. Or... no, it couldn't be. I shuffle over to the shelf and slide the paper behind the attaching rubber band.
Rhonda.
How many of them could their be in Tampa? I ignore the superfluous h - who else spells it that way anyway?
I spend the next ten minutes asking every employee on the floor if they took the call. I get a lot of no's plus several isn't she?'s. I finally find my person - the only information she can give me is that the customer was buying the book for someone else and that she would come in by closing or the next day.
I'm not coming in the next day. I can't decide whether I'm hopeful or not that she'll make it today.
No more than few minutes later, a familiar face approaches the counter. Knowing what the answer will be, I ask if she needs help. As I turn to retrieve the book, my customer service spirit struggles to defeat my political sensibilities. Be nice.
Again fully aware of the answer, I ask if she is that Ronda Storms. She offers a faint smile. I muster a barely sincere "It's nice to meet you."
What followed was an unidentifiable audible accompanied by the most puzzling of facial expressions. Struggling to explain the thoughts behind that look, I quickly took a self-poll of the possibilities. The results:
22% - "He probably doesn't vote in my district; I can dial it down."
20% - "I smell liberal - he probably hangs out at bikini bars with all his gay friends."
15% - "Can't smile - make-up too heavy."
10% - "RednerRednerRednerRednerRednerRedner..."
33% - Who cares - still thinking about wife and relaxation.
I told her where the registers are. The political reflex kicked in - she offered a handshake. Warmer than I thought. She went upstairs, and I was left thinking about where in the evening's busy schedule I could fit time to turn this encounter into a marginally amusing blog entry.
Posted by Joel at 1/20/2006 07:19:00 PM
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